


56 strikes

by crispierchip



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Crying, Humiliation, M/M, Punishment, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 05:27:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10587387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crispierchip/pseuds/crispierchip
Summary: Nate goes first. He has the most points, it’s only fair.





	

**Author's Note:**

> written for the prompt, "Any team loses in a terrible fashion one time too many, and it's the Captain who has to suffer for it, be it at the hands of his team, coach, or GM."
> 
> i mean, the avs season was downright depressing, so i, naturally, wrote this.
> 
> also, i know the avs lost against the blues, but i wrote this with a couple of games left in the season.

They win their last game of the season, which, all in all, doesn’t come to mean much. They’ve still lost fifty-six games, and no last moment wins are going to make up for that.

Gabe walks into the locker room after the win, and the guys are quiet. No one looks at him,and that's for the better; this is hard enough without twenty-something guys staring at him. Gabe walks to his stall and starts getting undressed, methodical. Once he’s naked, he goes to kneel by his stall, plants his hands on the ground and waits.

Nate goes first. He has the most points, it’s only fair. He doesn’t go easy, never has. The first hit has Gabe choking on his breath, almost biting his tongue to keep quiet. The second one is just as hard, and it hurts more, feels like punishment. Gabe feels his face warm, because he deserves this, he let Nate down, let his team down, and he deserves to hurt for it, isn’t supposed to enjoy it.

The third hit is harder than the first two, and this time, Gabe can’t hold it back. He makes a noise, sharp and quiet both at once, sucking in a breath through his teeth. Nate pauses, because Gabe usually makes it further than this before he wilts. He runs a hand over Gabe’s ass, a barely there touch that makes Gabe shudder, then try to shake it off.

Nate’s gentle, if only for a moment, and then he slaps Gabe again, this time a different spot, right where Gabe’s ass meets his thigh, and Gabe’s breath shakes, quietly. He grits his teeth through it because he has to, and when Nate goes for the same spot again, he squeezes his eyes shut, fighting back tears.

“Jesus,” he breathes. Nate doesn’t pause. He slaps Gabe again, this time a little higher, and scratches his nails over the mark. Gabe hisses, feels his face burns, his dick starting to thicken between his legs. He knows he won’t make it much longer; soon guys will start to notice. He brings his legs closer together at the thought, arches his back, just a little, trying to hide.

“There you go,” Nate says from behind him, sweet, as he brings his hand down on Gabe’s ass again. “You got it,” he goes on. He rubs his hand over Gabe’s ass, where the skin is burning from his hand, and for a moment Gabe thinks that’s it. He’s starting to breathe again, relax, because nate is always the worst, and then Nate’s hitting him again. It hurts more because Gabe’s not expecting it, and he forgets himself, moving away from it for a moment.

“Shh, come on,” Nate tells him. He puts a hand on Gabe’s back and holds him in place. “We’re almost done,” he says, which is a lie. Nate’s had eight and there’s forty-eight to go. Still, Gabe appreciates it, needs it, even.

Nate gives Gabe a moment to steady himself again, and then he asks, “Ready?”

Gabe nods, cheeks wet, and looks down at the carpet as Nate brings his hand down for the ninth and tenth times. They’re hard, harder than the rest when Gabe didn’t think they could be, and Gabe whimpers, this tiny thing that leaves him red in the face because he’s not supposed to be making those kind of sounds.

“Shh, that was it, I’m done,” Nate’s saying, and Gabe can barely make out the words. His heart is ringing in his ears, and his cock has started to feel heavy between his legs, and just the thought of his teammates seeing like this leaves him mortified. He makes another noise, rough and wet sounding, and Nate must think it’s his fault. “I’m done, I’m all done, I promise,” he hurries to say, patting Gabe’s back as if to say ‘good job’.

“It’s Dutchy’s turn now, okay?” Nate murmurs, rubbing gentle circles into Gabe’s back. “Think you’re up for that?” he asks, which, Gabe doesn’t really have a choice.

Still, he nods, and, when he feels Nate get up, braces himself, even though Matt doesn’t go as hard.

“I’m gonna try and go as fast as I can, okay?” Matt tells him, stroking over Gabe’s back, a feather light touch, like he doesn't want to touch him any more than he has to. And Gabe gets that; he knows this is difficult for Matt, maybe as difficult as it is for Gabe, because Matt hates hurting him.

Matt doesn’t go soft on him, though. He lands three blows in quick succession over Gabe’s ass, leaving him fighting to breathe, and then he stops, for a minute.

“Another three now, okay?” he murmurs, hand resting on the top of Gabe’s ass.

He waits for Gabe’s nod, which is as selfish as it is considerate, before bringing his hand down again. The hits are harder this time, and Gabe’s ass stings, his cock hanging heavy between his legs. His face burns with shame, because this is so wrong, it’s unnatural. Gabe wonders if he’s the only captain in the NHL to get off on this and thinks yes, in his worst moments.

“Three more,” Matt tells him, a warning, and then he’s hitting him again, in the crease between thigh and ass, and Gabe hates that spot, it hurts too bad, he likes it too much. Matt lands three blows there, and then he stops, abruptly, leaving Gabe reeling from it. He steps back, and Gabe turns to look at him, which he’s normally good about not doing, and finds him wiping his eyes. He kind of wants to tell him that it’s not his fault, except he’s barely holding it together as it is, and taking on another person’s guilt is not something he thinks he can do right now.

After Matt, Gabe looks to Tyson, sitting in his stall, still dressed, head hanging between his shoulders. He’s not even looking at Gabe, and Gabe feels it like a punch to the gut. He half wants to ask him, just ask tyson to look at him, but Rants gets there before Gbe has a chance to think it further.

“Hey, man, you good to go?” he asks him. He puts a hand on Tyson’s shoulder, and Gabe - he doesn’t like that, exactly. He doesn’t like Rants touching Tyson when Gabe can’t even go near him.

“Nah, you go ahead,” Tyson tells him, and he’s so quiet, Gabe can barely make out the words. “I’ll go last,” he says, and he finally meets Gabe’s eyes then. There’s nothing there, nothing Gabe can read, at least, but Gabe lets out a breath anyway, relieved.

Rants shrugs, and then he’s stepping up to Gabe. He kneels down beside him and splays his fingers wide on Gabe’s waist, where Gabe’s sweaty from the game and - from this. “It’s seven, okay?” he murmurs, close to Gabe’s ear.

Gabe nods, ass burning, and takes seven blows, seven hard, uneven ones. He makes hardly any noise at all through it, which is a point of pride, when it comes to this.

By the time Rants is done with him, Gabe’s cock is burning right along with his ass, and he aches for something to rub it against. He’d even take the carpet, but he can’t, because he at least has control over that.

It’s Grigs after that, with his share of six hits. He goes easy, though, with how hot Gabe’s ass is feeling right now, it doesn't much matter. It still hurts, brings tears to Gabe’s eyes, has his hips jumping forward every other hit. Grigs murmurs an apology every time he brings his hand down on Gabe’s ass, and his voice is wet, like he’s enjoying doing this about as much as Gabe is, or maybe not at all like that, Gabe thinks bitterly.

After Grigs, it’s Comes, and he's the polar opposite. He hits Gabe like he’s angry, which, he should be, Gabe doesn’t blame him. After all, that’s the whole point of this, guys taking out their anger, their frustration, and Gabe is there to take it, because he’s the captain.

It goes on like that, teammate after teammate, all taking their share out on Gabe. Gabe’s arms start to shake, at some point, both from the exhaustion of the game and the pain, so he gets on his elbows. He’s full on crying now, and he doesn’t want them to see that, see _him_ like that, so he rests his head on his arms and closes his eyes, muffles the sounds coming from his lips.

Gabe stays like that until the hits taper off, and he feels a hand on his shoulder. He looks up to find Tyson there, kneeling down beside him. There’s no one else there, Gabe notices, and feels his breath leave his chest in a gush of relief.

“Hey,” Tyson says, and smiles this sad thing, lips downturned.

“Hey,” Gabe says back, stupid with it. His voice is wet, snotty, and he has to clear his throat.

“You know the count?” Tyson asks him, stroking a hand through Gabe’s hair.

Gabe leans into it, the small comfort that he doesn’t deserve, and tries not to feel guilty about it; fails, too.

“Gabe,” Tyson says, when Gabe doesn’t answer. He fists his hand in Gabe’s hair, pulling his head back, and that’s better, more like what this is about. “The count.”

“Sorry,” Gabe just says, because he lost it somewhere like two dozen slaps ago and never bothered trying to figure it out.

Tyson purses his lips. “We’re at fifty, baby,” he says, and Gabe’s stomach curls.

“I need fifty six,” Gabe just says.

Tyson smiles, just as sad as before. “You ready for six, then?” he asks, and Gabe, he’s barely holding himself up as it is. His arms as trembling, same as his legs, and his dick is leaking, his ass numb. He doesn’t know - six a lot.

It’s Tyson’s share, though.

Gabe nods. He tries to sit up and groans, skin pulling taut in places that burn with pain.

“Shh, just stay still,” Tyson tells him. He runs his nails over Gabe’s ass, and Gabe hisses, dick jumping between his legs.

“Please,” he says, now, because there’s no one there to hear him beside Tyson.

“I know,” Tyson says. “I got you.” he brings his hand down on Gabe’s ass, right side, once. Gabe gasps, fresh tears making their way down his face, and braces for the next one. It’s on the left side, this time, which hurts just as much, if not more, and Gabe almost bites his tongue trying to keep quiet.

“Four to go,” Tyson tells him, and Gabe nods again. Tyson spanks him twice, then pauses to rub his hand over Gabe’s ass, soothing as much it is painful.

“Two more,” he says. The next two slaps are the hardest Gabe’s gotten, making him cry out, but they’re worth it for the sheer sense of relief that floods through him afterward.

Gabe tries to lay down on his stomach but he hurts to much, everywhere, he can barely breathe much less move.

“Shh, there you go, you did so good,” Tyson’s saying then, and Gabe can barely hear him over the buzzing in his ears. “You made us so proud, baby, such a good captain,” he goes on, and Gabe flushes at the praise but drinks it in all the same.

“Let’s get you on your back,” Tyson says.

Gabe tries to protest, because that’s going to hurt, but he’s too exhausted for it, so he moves with Tyson. He wants to scream when his ass first touches the locker room carpet. Gabe tries to lift up with his feet, but Tyson puts a hand on his stomach, holding him in place.

“You took it, took all of it,” Tyson says. “Now let me take care of you.”

And Gabe - he doesn’t want that, that’s shameful. He’s not supposed to like this, much less get off on it. He tries to articulate all that, but all that comes out instead is a nod, and he's weak, he’s so weak for this, an embarrassment to the team.

Tyson moves his hand from Gabe’s stomach to wrap around his dick but doesn’t try to jerk him off. Instead, he says, “Move your hips,” and Gabe, he doesn’t -

“You gotta work for it, baby,” Tyson goes on. His voice is sweet, but his hand is tight and it feels so good Gabe can hardly breathe. He starts moving, hesitantly, and chokes on his breath at the first pass of his ass over the rough carpet.

“You got it,” Tyson murmurs. “You can do it.”

Gabe - he tries. The carpet feels so rough, and Tyson’s hand is so dry, there’s so much friction. It feels too good, the pain, and pretty soon he’s making noises, half bitten off and mostly ashamed, but he keeps working his hips, fucking his dick in and out of Tyson’s hand, getting himself off.

When he comes, that hurts, too, and he chokes. It feels like his entire breath leaves him in a rush, and he collapses back on the filthy carpet, eyes shut while he tries to catch his breath. He tells himself next year has to be better, because he can’t imagine going through this another time.

  


**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading :))


End file.
